


you take my self, you take my self control

by antokilljoy



Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: AND GAY, M/M, Martino is Shook, Niccolò is beautiful, Post 2x03, filler scene, he is very gay indeed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 06:51:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16444913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antokilljoy/pseuds/antokilljoy
Summary: Martino is a lovesick idiot but he's not mad about it at all.--My take on what happened after the almost-kiss and how our very own roman kings exchanged numbers.





	you take my self, you take my self control

**Author's Note:**

> hello, I'm still Skam trash but this time it's for the italian remake. I just love Isak and Even in every universe tbh.  
> again, this is what I think happened after their almost kiss. I can't believe these two actually almost had their first kiss near a trash bin. I'd give my life for them, honestly.
> 
> I'm actually italian but this is a sort of thank you gift for all you international fans who are stanning the show. I love you & I hope you'll make your friends watch our remake as well! do it for Martino and Niccolò, they deserve it.
> 
> A huge thank you to the literal loml Bea and Eli. This is for you. I'd honestly give you my life I'm not even kidding at this point. ilysm
> 
> enjoy!

He can’t feel his hands.

It’s just like that time when he went skiing with Giovanni and Elia but he had worn simple wool gloves because he didn’t want to spend money on proper skiing-appropriate ones and, once they’d inevitably ended up in a snowball fight, at the end of the day he had had to keep his hands under the stream of hot water just to feel his fingertips again.

But there’s no snow now, nor Giovanni or Elia, and it isn’t even that cold, especially since he’s been running for the past three minutes towards an unknown direction along with other twenty-something teenagers.

Despite the company, he feels like he’s the only person left on earth.

It’s not an unknown feeling to him, he has been walking around in his every day life like a ghost for months now, feeling a bone-deep loneliness that sometimes made him feel at loss for air, but for the first time in a long time this isn’t making him want to scream. There’s no sadness right now, no single meals eaten on his bed while chocking back his tears because even though his mother wasn’t at home yet and his father hadn’t been for some time, he _was no_ t going to cry—nothing. Because for the first time in years, among that swarm of bubbling teenagers, who are now progressively slowing down after realizing tha Silvia’s house is at a safe distance, there’s one, a boy, _the b_ oy, who seems to be stanging out from the rest of them.

They’re near a crossroad now, he can indinstinctly hear voices discussing whether to go have a drink somewhere else or just call it a night and go home, but, in that moment, to Martino there’s only him and Niccolò.

The older boy is standing close to Maddalena, she’s whispering something to his hear and their mere closeness, earlier, had been enough to break his heart and prompt him to kiss Emma, but he honestly couldn’t care less right now.  
He can feel Niccolò’s eyes looking for him and, after a few seconds, their stares finally meet. Niccolò’s smile is a private affair, a small curve trying to break in such a handsome, sharp face and that he intends to keep only between them.

Martino should probably go talk to Emma, he can see her coming towards him, but for that small fraction of infinity he can finally see, in Niccolò’s almost transparent eyes, how he’s not the only one who’s feeling like he’s been floating for the past ten minutes.  
All at once, he’s being hit by the memory of Niccolò breathing on his cupid bow, and of himself repeating ‘god he’s so fucking beautiful’ to himself ever since he had first seen him smile after telling that silly story. He’s reliving it all over again, the feeling of their hands getting to know each other, the feeling of everything else just stopping, and the sound of his beating heart was enough to make him fear it was going to leap out of his chest.

Their moment is broken by Eva telling everyone to just do what they want because the party is over, and had he been a little more sober Martino would have probably made a joke on how it had never actually started, but Emma speaking directly to him is enough  to take him out of his trance.

Tonight was lovely, yeah, I guess I’ll see you, yeah see you on Monday, how are you going home? Oh, Maddalena is driving you? No, I don’t need a ride, I live nearby, I’ll just walk, no, I don’t feel like going for drinks right now, I’ll text you, bye. A kiss on the cheek, definitely not what the girl was expecting, and then he finally sees her walking towards Maddalena after giving him an awkward yet affectionate smile.

Martino suddenly realizes that he really has gotta get going if he wants to get home at a decent hour, because it’s not really true that he lives close but he’d rather walk alone than go with anyone else, much less Emma. Or, well, the only person he’d gladly go back home with is now walking towards him –they’re among the few who are still there, on the lamp-lit sidewalk of a residential roman neighbourhood—and for a blissful moment his mind actually manages to trick him into thinking that Niccolò might offer him a ride and the fact that that doesn’t actually happen would have been enough to break his heart, hadn’t Niccolò put his left hand on the back of his neck to softly let his cheek touch Martino’s to say goodbye.

He couldn’t feel his hands before, but right now he can’t feel anything at all.

By now, Niccolò’s smell is something familiar –hell, not even their close encounter right in front of the trash cans and their smell had been enough to make him forget about it-- and yet he feels a tsunami of emotions at the mere thought that yeah, it’s Niccolò’s perfume he’s breathing in and yes, it’s his hair that he’s feeling agains his, it’s Niccolò’s surprisingly smooth cheek against his, and that hand (that to everyone else could appear as a casual means to keep himself upright –but Martino _knows_ is nothing but a deliberate act to make him lose his mind) is still Niccolò’s.

“Bye Marti, I’ll see you at school” he says, after a mere second of contact that managed to last for several hours, in Martino’s mind.  
He knows that his face must definitely be betraying every single emotion that he’s going through right now, while hundreds of thoughts finally manage to make their way to the center of his mind – _what are we going to do? Are we going to talk about it? Aren’t we? Are we going to pretend it never happened? Could the past 15 minutes be a product of a very elaborate hallucination? How on earth am I going to live with myself if we decide to ignore what clearly-didn’t-happen?_ But of course Niccolò comes to his aid, taking the phone that Martino hadn’t even realized he had been holding in his hand.

“Wait, I’ll just add myself to your contacts, in case you need help to take out the trash again” and the heart-stopping wink-and-smile combo that follows while he’s unlocking his phone is enough to make Martino die all over again --because he knows he’s only kidding, he knows that Niccolò probably hasnt even though about it that much, but _of course_ it feels like a clear reference to what just happpened.

Honestly, Martino doens’t know whether he wasnt to slap himself or laugh over the fact that from now on he’s never going to be able to look at a trash bin without feeling the urge to cry.

Niccolò must have called his number from Martino’s phone in order to save it, because suddenly the obnoxious, unmistakeable Nokia ringtone starts blearing from Niccolò’s pockets and Martino hears himself making a joke on how the neolithic age wants his phone back, but he isn’t actively taking part into the conversation, he’s a mere observer, whose mind is still stuck to what happened a few seconds beforehand.

 _I am such a fucking idiot_ , he thinks, but he finally manages to find the stength to say goodbye to him, to Eva and the girls, and to start walking towards a random road that most definitely isn’t the one he’s supposed to be taking.

The walk fills him with a weird sense of deja-vu, but this time there’s close to no alcohol in his body and he doesn’t have to look for Niccolò on every social meadia known to mankind, because he has his phone number in his back pocket.

He takes his phone, taps on the list of recent calls and sees that the last contact simply says “Niccolò”, with a capital n, no surname, as if it was the only important one (and God, it is, it really is) even though Martino probably know at least three other people with the same name.

Once again he finds himself smiling like a fool, but he’s not mad about it. He opens the maps app, and starts typing his address.

 _I really am a fucking idiot,_ he reiterates, but he’s never been happier.

 

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on twitter as @resplendenteven (yes, I'm the girl who asked the cast the 'is it nicotino or rames' question. you can call it whatever you want tho, i'll still love u).  
> please let me know your thoughts on this thing. thanks for reading!  
> anto


End file.
